


Un Familiar

by NukeLassic



Category: The Property of Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NukeLassic/pseuds/NukeLassic
Summary: If only we could hear the stories they have to tell.





	Un Familiar

And like that, it was over. The world felt still, as if lodged in time. RGB stood in place, vision unfocused. It had finally come, the coward’s way out. It was over.

The words had the weight of the world behind them, and for once in his full memory, RGB could think of nothing that felt so weightless.

It was over.

“Well, rather something of an anticlimax…” He lied, turning to the young companion behind him. “One would almost think saving the entire world would have been more…” He froze, staring at the emptiness behind him. “Difficult…” The space of a person was nearly empty behind him. The faintest echo of a soul, drifting like so many fireflies, drew into the sky. Her face, her outline, her body, her coat, her everything.

His posture, soldier straight, began to slack. His cane clattered to the floor, and he looked for too long at the emptiness. “Ah…”

* * *

_Every unmade character has a limit: a rate of decay. If they are not realised before their inspiration runs out they will, ultimately, cease to exist. It was not their fault—Nor it is a mark of a bad design; that they came here proves otherwise. They both know that—but they could never have avoided this; for, you see—the fate of this relationship… Would have been the same if either had become complete. No matter the manner in which they leave—be it by failure or success—those who do will not remember this world…_

_Even if it remembers them._

* * *

The pavement was warm this time of year, and she felt the rubber soles of her rain boots part the puddles as she walked. Classes had let out for the day, and left her the afternoon to walk the streets, visit with strangers, and explore the world.

Sometime in her childhood, she’d developed such a strong curiosity for the world, something deeper than a child’s curiosity, and it lead her to want to spend her idle hours out of the flat, and in among the bustle of the world. She dubbed these walkabouts “adventures,” such as they could be in the busy pedestrian-laden streets. She paused to watch a dog being walked as it passed, and mused silently to herself about its four legs, the way it cantered, the way it seemed to walk to explore the world with its tongue. Though she couldn’t put a finger on it, something about it felt familiar.

Familiar…

The word had gained something of a new life for her in the past few years. At times, in the middle of the night, she’d wake to expect someone perched on her desk. The window, ever locked, never felt truly closed in those half-waking moments of reverie. She’d find herself getting deja vu for things she had never experienced. The whole world was at once something to discover, and in many ways, at random times, entirely familiar.

Someone bumped into her back while she was musing about dogs, and she turned, offered a gentle apology, and continued walking.

Her rambling adventure took her down a side street she’d passed before but never explored. Inside was a small alcove, strung lights hanging over thin wires. Bits of sky, maybe as wide as a meter in its widest point, let parts of the cloudy sky peak through the lips of roof and awning overhead. A little cafe spilled out into the alley, littering the space with tables, chairs, and candle sconces.

She weaved among the chairs, and watched the sky and street in equal parts as she walked. Laundry lines passed across some of the rooftops, attached to loft flats above the businesses below, she figured. The cobbled brick pathway felt incredibly textured under her feet. Grouting between the brick, at least as much of it as had survived years in the elements, looked a kind of pinkish white in the cloudy sunlight peering into the quiet alcove. Almost like roots.

Familiar.

She shook her head a little, and looked around. Most of the doors this deep in the alley seemed residential, bearing little marking other than brass numbers or hand-written signs from neighbors. A few fliers adorned the walls—missing cats, guitar lessons, and such mundane paperwork—but the building furthest in had a large plate glass window across the front that was spilling enough light to look like a business. She wandered over to it.

The old shop was made of old stonework and modern glass windows. Odds and Ends, as the sign above the door stated, was a second-hand goods store with a specialization is anachronisms and oddities. The slogan, etched in a peach-colored font across the bottom of the glass, proclaimed the store to be full of “Eye-catching classics.”

Her hand had opened the door before her mind registered much else.

Inside, the walls were lined with shelves. The back of the shop was covered in books. A distant corner held some old house furniture. One tall-backed chair in particular seemed to stick out in its mundanity, but it caught her attention. As if she could feel it looking back at her every time she tried to take her eyes from it.

Familiar.

Aside from the shelves of books, it was littered with all kinds of other things. Clothing racks shared a wall with some colorful-looking paintings. She breezed past the clothes, pausing for a moment on a big red raincoat. She turned and walked through the rest of the store. The leftmost wall of the store held shelves of appliances and oddities. She let her eyes run the length of the shelves, looking at nothing in particular, but letting them linger when she got to anything that stuck out to her.

Eventually, her eyes fell on an old CRT television. Original body was either white or an eggshell color, but it had yellowed the tiniest bit over the years. Old antenna poked out of the top, two dials jutted out to the right of the screen, and a little door covering some other controls sat closed. She stared at it for a moment, and a voice she didn’t recognize didn’t say anything in her head, but her mind listened so hard to find it.

An older woman, in a peach-colored jumper, sidled up next to her. “Looking for anything in particular, dearie?”

She turned, and looked at the older woman in the face. A kind face, worn from decades of smiles and thoughtless kindnesses, seemed to leave a gentleness in the air. Half-moon glasses rested on the tip of her nose. “Oh, uh, no thank you. Just seeing what there is to see here.”

“Oh plenty, and stories besides. My customers don’t talk as much about the things they’re trading in and donating as much these days, so I don’t know much about these pieces except how they look on my shelf. I suspect they’d have such stories to them.”

The younger girl smiled, and plucked a single, unmatched, fingerless red glove from the shelf. “Even this?”

Familiar.

“Oh, certainly.” The proprietor replied, and asked, “I wonder where the other half is?”

They stayed this way for a moment, both contemplating the glove, before the younger of the duo spoke up again, finding herself once again caught up in the gaze of the television. “Do you think they remember the stories we don’t know?”

The old woman offered a tight smile. “I would be surprised if they didn’t.”

They contemplated the store's trinkets for a few moments more, then old shopkeeper turned back toward the front desk. When she was halfway down the aisle, the adventurer turned and followed her to the till. “Do you ever remember things that haven't happened? Hear voices you’ve never heard say things you don’t know? Do you ever feel like some of these stories are being shouted at you, full of emotion, in a way you can’t hear?”

The shopkeeper regarded her for a long time, face cryptic. “Once or twice, perhaps. Though not for many years. I take it some of the things in here are talking to you?”

The adventurous child looked back toward the television, the glove, and felt the chair’s eyes on her back. “Only how I can’t hear them.”

The old woman offered a consolatory smile. "Well, you're welcome back any time you'd like when you want to come listen."

She lingered for a moment more, seeing herself bubbled in the television's glass.


End file.
